Healing in the Last Homely House
by Thalion Estel
Summary: The Winter Soldier is struggling as he tries to untangle the mess of thoughts in his head. Meanwhile, Aragorn is travelling to Rivendell for some much needed rest. Paths collide, evils are encountered, and peace is sought. Can the Soldier find healing in the Last Homely House? EDITED AND REVISED AS OF JULY 2016.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Well, congratulations; you are reading the first crossover between **_**Captain America: The Winter Soldier**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings**_** ever written. :D Anyway, let me get a few things out of the way so that you can enjoy the story. First off, this takes place right after **_**Winter Soldier**_** and, on the other end, an unspecified date during the 17 years between the Long Expected Party and the start of Frodo's journey. This story is only AU in the sense that it does NOT take any Civil War stuff into account, as it was written before Civil War came out. I would love your feedback as you read; I hope you enjoy!**

**Updated Author's Note: This, the REVISED version of the story is in most respects like the original. My editing was sometimes just tiny revisions to sentences, but other times it was more major alterations to dialogue. However, nothing in the plot has changed; this is the same story read over with the eye of one who has gained much experience since I first wrote this. But I'd still really appreciate feedback, for as the wise have said, I am **_**semper reformanda**_**: always reforming!**

**. . .**

The Winter Soldier sat in an abandoned building, still struggling with the new concept of conflicting thoughts. He had never once disobeyed, or at least he could never remember disobeying—pain and pattern had trained that out of him. HYDRA had made him a machine, capable only of following orders. But now something else had invaded his mind, a parasite of some sort, and orders were no longer the only objective in his consciousness.

_You know me._

Those words echoed in his mind, haunting him anew every second, but he could not stop himself from thinking them. _No, I don't,_ the Soldier thought with his eyes shut tightly. It was just what he had yelled to that familiar man, the so-called "Captain America", during their last confrontation.

_Bucky, you've known me your whole life._

The conversation had played in the Soldier's mind for days. He was not even sure exactly how long it had been since he had taken refuge in this broken down building, but however much time had passed, it had not been long enough to dispel his confusion. If anything, time had added to the lack of clarity.

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._

_Shut up!_

_I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend._

_You're my mission. You're. My. Mission._

_Then finish it. 'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line._

Why were those last words so disturbing to the Soldier? He had pondered them many times since dragging Captain America from the water, but he still had no solution. He was not entirely sure why he had saved the man in the first place. Through this seemingly new process of thinking and wondering, questions were never answered; they only grew in number. If his mind would only stop demanding solutions, perhaps he could have some kind of peace. But every time he tried to shove doubts or inquiries from his thoughts, the face of Captain America appeared in his memory, and his wrestling with himself continued.

The Soldier knew he would have to move from this place soon, for both safety and satisfaction. He might not know much, but he was sure he wanted to avoid being detected by both S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA. He also had to end the war in his mind. Information would not suddenly appear, the Soldier knew, and if he wanted peace in the form of answers, he would have to actively pursue it.

The Winter Soldier pushed himself to his feet, trying to ignore his body's protests to the action. He had relocated his shoulder soon after finding shelter, but he still had many severe bruises. His stomach rumbled from lack of food, and he realized that his first step in his new plan of action should be to acquire nourishment and casual clothes. He had no idea where to find these items, but there were containers holding rubbish in the alleys, and while these would not offer the finest resources, the Soldier decided that one such container might have materials that would suffice.

Stealthily peering out from one of the structure's broken windows, the Soldier deduced that no one was within sight, and his opportunity for movement was at hand. Without much difficulty, he slipped through a hole in the wall where several boards should have been and began heading for a nearby alleyway.

. . . . .

Aragorn sat by himself at a small table and sipped his ale slowly. _The Prancing Pony_ was the same as it had always been, and that was a comforting fact. Even if the people of Bree did not appreciate Aragorn, the ranger still enjoyed stopping in the area. The inn was no Rivendell, but it was far more comfortable and safe than the wild.

A new customer came through the door, and Butterbur hurried over to offer up hospitality. The stranger wore a dark hood, and Aragorn could not see his face. The heir of Elendil watched as Butterbur seated the man and ordered Nob to wait on him. The stranger looked up at Aragorn, intentionally but carefully revealing his identity.

"Halbarad!" Aragorn exclaimed as he stood up and moved over to his kinsman's table. "It is an unexpected pleasure to see you. What errand brings you to Bree?"

"I am returning to the Shire," Halbarad answered. "I have been about many other tasks, but now I am at last going to watch over the peaceful realm of the Little Folk. It was my hope to come upon you when I reached it."

"I have only just left the Shire a few days ago," Aragorn said. Nob soon appeared with refreshments for Halbarad, and the two rangers made themselves at home.

"Are our people well? Is the land still safe?" Halbarad asked, taking a bite of bread.

"It remains secure," Aragorn explained, "and the Dúnedain stationed there are well. I travel to Imladris to rest for a while from my labors. It has been long since I gazed at that fair valley, and I hope to reach it by the week's end."

"When do you set out from _The Prancing Pony_?"

Aragorn smiled, an expression that Halbarad thought revealed the man's high lineage more than any other. "If it were an urgent matter, I would have left at first light. However, I decided to take a late breakfast. I was planning to begin in but a few minutes."

"Will you not stay and tell me of your journeying?"

"If you ask it, I shall do it."

Aragorn and Halbarad related to each other the tales of their travels. They hardly noticed the bustling about of Butterbur or the talking and laughing of the other guests. They were just glad to gain some news and see a friend. At last, however, Aragorn bade Halbarad a farewell and prepared to start out.

"I wish you a good journey with Eru's blessing," Halbarad said.

"You have my thanks. I wish the same for you."

"Be wary, though, Aragorn," Halbarad warned quietly. "There have been rumors of evil things stirring in the Trollshaws as of late. Keep open your keen eyes!"

"I will," Aragorn assured him. "Farewell, my friend."

Aragorn arose from the table and walked to his room. On the bed sat his pack, ready to travel. Lying near it was his bow, his quiver, and the shards of Narsil. The ranger set his burden on his shoulders and strapped his sword to his side. He would normally have placed his bow in his pack, but Halbarad's warning caused him to keep it handy. He fastened his quiver in place, threw his cloak over all his gear, and marched out to find Butterbur.

After paying the innkeeper for last night's room, Aragorn walked out onto the uneven street of Bree, heading toward the stable. There was housed his steed, and when Aragorn had reached the stall, he stroked its neck and mounted. The ranger turned his eyes eastward, and with his jaw set, he urged the horse forward. Imladris awaited him.

**. . .**

**Author's Note: How was the first chapter? Remember, you've got to review! I am not afraid to call down the Doom of the Noldor on the evil readers who give no feedback, so I suggest you review, if only for your own safety. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: And here is the second chapter. The plot thickens! Don't forget to give me some feedback!**

**. . .**

The Winter Soldier had been able to find a long sleeved jacket with a few dark stains, some pants with holes, and a tattered baseball cap outside of an establishment entitled "Thrift Store". Decent food had been harder to find, but after about twenty minutes of searching, the Soldier at last found enough nourishment to suffice as a meal. Now he sat beside one of the large compartments of trash, wondering where he could find information of the kind he sought.

There was no point in asking someone for facts. They could report him, and anyway he would never manage to effectively carry on a conversation with a civilian. Instead, the Soldier considered trying to find a place with unrestrained access to a search network. He did not know what such a place would be called or where it would be located, but there was little risk of his being apprehended, even if he took to the streets. With his change of clothes and grown facial hair, he would probably not be recognized.

The Soldier nonchalantly walked toward the sidewalk and merged with the flow of pedestrians. He felt uncomfortable being near so many different men and women, if such a feeling were possible for him at all. He evaluated the potential threat each one posed to him, but he soon noticed that this made them cautious, so he only stole quick glances at people when they were not focused on him.

He passed by many different buildings, each with a description or title on its front. The Soldier entered a few places, but none offered what he was searching for. After he had been walking about an hour, a large board atop a tall pole caught the Soldier's attention. It had a picture of Captain America, and right below the photograph was a short paragraph describing a historic exhibit in the captain's honor. The Soldier was curious, for Captain America had claimed to know him, and perhaps learning about the captain would cause him to remember something or at least acquire a reasonable goal. Taking note of the directions to the exhibit's location, the Soldier began walking with a new purpose, following the signs when they appeared.

The city was large, and it took more than an hour for the Soldier to reach the huge building where the exhibit was housed. The area was crawling with people, some with uniforms, and at first the Soldier hesitated. It would be hard to get inside undetected, especially with the several cameras placed at advantageous angles throughout the entrance.

Just when the Soldier was about to turn around, he spotted a group of about thirty people exiting a bus and walking toward the building. An idea came into his head, and he quickly jogged over and mingled with the crowd as they came into the door. The man at the head of the throng spoke with a guard, gesturing occasionally to all behind him, and in a few moments, the group was allowed to pass.

The Soldier separated from the crowd as soon as he was safely inside. He was able to find a sign detailing the exhibit on Captain America, and he made his way as inconspicuously as possible to its location. At last he arrived, and as he walked into the small area, he felt his internal fortresses against emotion begin to retreat as his heart thumped loudly in his ears.

Every picture on the wall seemed to make his mind reel. He somehow _knew_ the people in the pictures. He _knew_ the names on the plaques. He _knew_ the uniforms on the mannequins. He could not place memories with names and pictures, but he was sure that he had seen most of these things before, and he was sure that they had been important to him.

He stared at most images and words only a few seconds, finding the pain of half-remembering nearly unbearable. However, soon his eyes fell upon a large glass display with a face pictured beside a paragraph of information. When he saw the picture, he felt his jaws part. It was himself. The name on the plaque was Bucky Barnes.

The Soldier stepped up to the display and remained transfixed, reading and rereading every detail on it. His mind drank up the information, storing it away like a well regulated machine. Not one piece of the information in the paragraph could be forgotten. Some of it was familiar, some of it was hazy and confusing, but all of it was eagerly received by the Soldier's brain almost as if it belonged there.

It was not until someone bumped into him that he realized he had been standing there a long time. He restrained his instinct to lash out at the clumsy person, knowing such an action would bring guards. Instead, he began making his way toward the exit as quickly as he could, not knowing why he wanted to leave—only that he did.

Before he reached the door, the Soldier noticed a strange sensation. He lifted his human arm, and as he pulled back the sleeve on his jacket, he saw that his hair was standing on end. This would normally indicate a cold temperature or electric field, but after a careful look around, the Soldier could not find any such cause. Then, very suddenly, a dark abyss opened in front of him, and he was sucked in by a powerful force. All went black around him, and the Soldier lost consciousness.

. . . . .

No matter how often he was engaged in travel, Aragorn always found it pleasant. During the past eighty years, he had always appreciated walking and riding over long distances, and even when necessity and difficult circumstances were added to the mix, he found journeys enjoyable. As the sun set behind the hills, its rays painting many colors on the clouds above, Aragorn found himself sighing in contentment.

It would be so nice to return to Imladris. It was in that fair valley that Aragorn's heart always dwelt, although he did bear a small, bitter pain while he rested there. The doom laid upon him by his love for the immortal elven maid, Arwen, caused him sorrow. One day either Lord Elrond would lose his daughter or Aragorn would lose his love. Still, the ranger pursued the hope that he would wed the beautiful descendant of Lúthien, and it was her lovely face that kept him going in dark times.

The Aragorn rode on, even as the darkness thickened. He did not push himself to the point of exhaustion, for he was not in any real hurry. When the shining moon came out, almost full in shape, Aragorn dismounted and looked for a place to rest. The moon's light revealed the summit of Weathertop to the northeast, and Aragorn veered from the road and turned towards it. He soon found a group of shrubs clustered tightly together, and he decided to sleep there.

Aragorn tied his horse's bridle loosely to a branch and prepared a makeshift bed with a blanket. He ate a morsel of dry food, drank a few sips of water, and nestled down in the tall grass. He fell asleep easily, for the uneven ground did not affect him, and his sleep was peaceful.

The next morning, he awoke at dawn and resumed his trek. The horse he rode was bred for travel, and it did not have a hard time going at a decent pace all day long. The terrain changed slowly, and there were no travelers on the road. The hours passed by, and once again Aragorn saw the sun sinking and the moon rising. He turned aside and found a hollow in which to sleep, but he did not receive the peaceful rest he had experienced last night.

Aragorn was restless and uneasy, tossing and turning as he slept. His dreams were foreboding, though it was a strange kind of dark feeling. To Aragorn it seemed that great anguish was near, yet not necessarily his own. Throughout half the night, Aragorn struggled in his dream, but he saw nothing except darkness. Then, at last, the dream changed, and a blurry vision met his eyes.

Aragorn saw a red light, probably a fire, flickering behind trees in the distance. He was suddenly closer, and he could see shadows flashing back and forth, though he could not make out their owners. There was something shining in the light, as if there were a pool near the fire, or perhaps a person clad in silver raiment. The sound, which was muffled at first, grew louder, and Aragorn realized that there was a fight going on between at least two things. One appeared larger than the other, but before Aragorn could see anything else, the vision faded.

Aragorn awoke with a start. He sat up quickly and felt for his sword, even though he had nothing to fear in the waking world. His breathing was hard, and sweat was on his brow. He turned and looked at his horse, which grazed without care or fear. When he had assured that all was well, he stood up and patted his steed's neck.

"I suppose I am in a more desperate need of decent rest than I had thought, dear fellow," he said quietly. The horse took no notice of its master, but Aragorn still smiled. "If I am to get this rest, we must be off again."

With no appetite, Aragorn packed up his belongings and mounted immediately. He tried, but he could not shake the dream from his mind as he journeyed that day. It had not been clear, but it had been _real_. Aragorn was by no means afraid, but kept his bow close at hand as he continued traveling down the path.

**. . .**

**Please be sure to review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Here comes some action! I hope y'all enjoy it.**

**. . .**

The Winter Soldier was standing in a dense wood. He did not recall awakening or even coming to consciousness. He had no idea how much time had expired since the strange abyss had appeared. All he knew was that at this moment, he was most certainly not in the building he had been in before.

Taking in his surroundings with more detail, the Soldier noticed that there were no signs of civilization anywhere. No path could be seen among the trees, no houses were visible, and the deep quietness indicated no cars, planes, or crowds. The only sounds were rustling leaves and calling birds. The only light was that of a setting sun, close to disappearing behind distant hills.

The Soldier was not afraid, but he was thoroughly perplexed. He could not even come close to finding a logical possibility that could explain how he had come to be here. For several minutes he simply stood still and thought, trying to remember any incident in the exhibit or before that would have caused his ordeal. No solution presented itself, and the Soldier decided to turn his attention to the situation at hand. After all, answers had been in the habit of eluding him as of late.

The sun was now halfway below the hills, and the Soldier knew that darkness could likely be his enemy. He opted to find a decent place to rest where he could continue to assess his position while remaining unseen. He was also hungry again, but he could not risk wandering about looking for food without the advantage of sight. The Soldier walked around in the forest for about a quarter of an hour before finding a tree with branches that could make a suitable platform. He tore some large twigs from the trees, each with plenty of leaves for cushioning, and spread them across the branches. He then lay down and closed his eyes, though his ears were attentive to the smallest disturbances.

When the Soldier roused himself in the morning, he was somewhat stiff but had suffered no incident during the night. He climbed down from his perch and began to explore the woods, looking for any sign of a path or house. His hunger was quite strong now, though without a gun he knew he had little chance of catching anything. He snacked on a few edible plants, but they did not calm his hunger. His thirst was slowly becoming a problem as well, but he did manage to find a small stream a little while before noon where he drank eagerly.

The day passed very slowly. The Soldier walked through the trees with growing frustration, never finding anything that he sought. There were no trails, no buildings, and no satisfying foods. He was beginning to slow down due to his deteriorated condition, and that concerned him greatly. However, he would not improve by standing around, so he kept walking.

At last, the sun disappeared. As its light faded, the Soldier continued aimlessly through the trees, hoping that if he traveled in a straight line, he would at least find the end of the woods. It was too dark to see very well, but suddenly the ground beneath the Soldier's feet became flat, although the forest around him was unchanged. He looked around and noticed that he had indeed found a small path, and without a second thought, he turned and followed it. He noticed that it led him west, though he did not really care in which direction it took him so long as it took him somewhere _else_.

When he had been walking about ten minutes, he stopped dead in his tracks as a wonderful smell reached his nostrils. It was the distinct aroma of cooking meat. The Soldier started off with new zeal, and as he went, the scent became stronger and more tantalizing. Soon he could see the light of a fire burning about a hundred yards off the trail, and he swung towards it. He now walked more slowly and stealthily, even though his stomach was screaming for immediate satisfaction. Finally he reached the trees just outside a small clearing which housed the blazing fire. He peeked his head around one if the great tree trunks and tried to make sense of what he saw.

Sitting on some large logs were two of the strangest and ugliest creatures the Soldier had ever seen. They were much larger than any man with thick, almost scaly skin and disproportional limbs and heads. They were talking, or more likely arguing, together, but their speech was so coarse that the Soldier could not understand them.

The Soldier was far too hungry to care how dangerous these creatures might be, and any reasons to avoid these strange beings could not compare to the present need anyway. The Soldier unsheathed one of his knives and tried to come up with a plausible plan of attack. With his limited weaponry, there was a fairly decent chance he would sustain injury. Though the outlook was doubtful, the scenario of starving to death was far less appealing than taking a few punches, and so the soldier set his position and prepared to jump onto the closest creature's back.

. . . . .

Aragorn was quite tired as he dismounted his horse. It was only about an hour after sunset, but the ranger was exhausted, and he was forced to walk in order to stay awake. On top of his first uneasy night, he had experienced the same troubling dream again last night, depriving him of adequate rest. He had decided when he awoke to travel longer today so that his sleep might be deeper, but now he was considering turning in soon.

As he plodded along the path, a sound disturbed the silence, and Elendil's heir looked up with a start. His hands were on his bow before his brain had time to command it, and an arrow was set to the string in another second. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and his weariness fell from him as a cloak. The images from his dream flashed into Aragorn's memory, and he breathed a silent prayer as he continued.

He veered from the path, but he walked only a few yards from it so as not to lose it. More sounds came to his ears, and a faint light was visible ahead. Aragorn looped his horse's bridle to a tree branch and went on by himself, walking as quietly as if he were hunting a stag. In a few minutes, he saw that there was a clearing a little ways ahead with a fire at its center. Shadows were playing across the trees, and Aragorn knew this was what he had dreamed. His first thought was trolls, and he fingered the bow in his hands readily.

The ranger finally reached the clearing, taking in all the details that he could. One troll lay slumped over a log, dead. Its throat had been cut, and since that was its only visible injury, Aragorn deduced that it had been killed by surprise. Despite this strange development, there was a far more important scene occurring in the clearing, and it consumed Aragorn's attention immediately.

Another troll was wielding a large tree limb for a makeshift club, and its intended target was ducking back and forth as fast as he could. To the ranger's surprise, the other combatant was a man. However, this man fought like no one Aragorn had ever seen. He was extremely quick and strong, and his left arm was made of a silver colored metal. He appeared to have already been hurt, for while he was fast, he limped and staggered.

Aragorn saw all this in only a few seconds, and before he could do anything, the troll gained a victory. By swinging the branch low, it managed to knock the man off his feet. Then with a second swipe, the club slammed into the disoriented man, throwing him across the clearing. He let out a cry of pain and flew several feet in the air before crashing into a tree and falling in a heap onto the ground. He did not rise.

Aragorn had no reason to defend the man, but he did not need one. With a loud shout, he sprang from the trees to draw the troll's attention. As soon as the beast looked the ranger's way, Aragorn loosed his arrow, hitting his enemy in the eye. The creature screamed with pain and waved its arms about wildly. Aragorn quickly dropped his bow and unsheathed Narsil, despite its being broken, and charged straight for his disadvantaged foe.

"Elendil!" he cried as he reached the troll and stabbed upwards.

His blow hit the troll in the sternum, and before the beast could deal its own stroke, Aragorn followed up his first attack with another slice. The troll crumpled to the ground, just barely missing the ranger on its way down. When he was sure the troll was dead, Aragorn rushed over to the fallen man, hoping beyond hope that he was still alive.

**. . .**

**Review, please!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Here's another chapter! And remember: reviews really do mean a lot to me, so be sure to leave them! Thanks!**

**. . .**

The Winter Soldier could barely produce conscious thoughts. Every part of his body felt as if it were on fire, and he wondered if he would die. For the first time in his life, or at least the life he remembered, he was afraid of death. He was not even sure why he was afraid, but he fought the end with every painful breath. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he was turned onto his back by strong yet gentle grip.

Aragorn gasped as he got his first look at the man's face. It had many gashes across it from where the log had hit him, and his jaw looked to have been slightly fractured. However, it was the man's eyes that stood out. They were full of fear and pain, but a pain deeper than wounds. Aragorn's fingers tingled as they touched the cold metal of the man's arm, but he did not let any of his thoughts show on his face.

After looking over the man, he deduced that there was no area bleeding excessively, and therefore immediate treatment would do little good. Even with all his experience, Aragorn could not offer much aid in this situation, for he had neither light nor medicine. The only way the man would be able to recover was if he were brought to Rivendell. The ranger might not know who the man was or what his intentions were, but his life was on the line, and the right thing to do was help.

"Can you hear me?" Aragorn asked.

The Soldier did hear something, but it was unclear to all his reeling senses. It seemed likely to him that the man had saved him from the beast and therefore would not kill him. He tried to focus on the stranger hovering over him, but it was difficult.

"Can you hear me?" Aragorn asked again.

The Soldier understood and managed a slight nod. He grimaced as waves of pain shot through his body, and his breath came in quick, small pants. He wished he could do something—anything—but his limbs did not respond.

"Listen to my words," Aragorn said slowly. "I am going to fetch my horse. I will return as soon as I can."

For some reason, the Soldier did not want to be left alone. The thought of dying all by himself made his breath come even more quickly, and the ranger noticed it.

"I _will_ return," he said adamantly, pressing his hand firmly on the Soldier's shoulder.

With that, the ranger sped away, and the Soldier was alone. He felt he had no choice but to believe what the man said, though it did not make the waiting easier to bear. Strange images flashed through his mind of a train, of snow, and of Captain America. The later seemed to swallow the others, and suddenly a name pierced the Soldier's mind like a knife.

_Steve._

Was that Captain America's name? The Soldier had been actively denying his knowledge of any past with the captain, despite his irrational feelings, but that name had come out of nowhere. Perhaps he had read it in the exhibit. Captain America might have even said it, or at least been called it by a comrade. Although all these were reasonable excuses, the Soldier somehow realized that the name had come from his own memory, not an outside source.

Within two minutes of his departure, Aragorn returned with his horse. He hastily tossed his pack onto his back, grabbed up his bow, and cleaned the long shard of Narsil before placing it in its sheath. Running over to the Soldier, he spoke as clearly as he could.

"I am going to take you to a place where you can heal. It will be safe. Please forgive me if this is painful."

Aragorn caused his horse to sit down carefully beside the injured man. Then, using all the strength he possessed, the ranger lifted the Soldier from the ground and put him in the saddle. The Soldier grunted and clinched his teeth at the sharp pain caused by the movement, but he relaxed a little when he was on the horse.

Aragorn swung up behind his patient and whispered in Sindarin to the horse. It darted forward at his words, and Aragorn held the Soldier steadily so that he would not fall or be overly jolted. The ranger guided the steed back onto the path, and then it needed no more instructions. It knew the way home.

The pair galloped on for several hours. The Soldier was just barely awake throughout most of the trek, but his mind never left the face of Captain America. Steve—the familiar man. He did not know what to believe anymore. He had purposefully assumed the information about himself given by the exhibit and by the captain to be erroneous, but there it was becoming harder and harder to deny the possibility that it was true. No! It was probably some trick of S.H.I.E.L.D. to make him lose focus.

_I knew him._

Those words formed in the Soldier's mind, but they felt familiar there. They were not someone else's thoughts, but his own. From before? Had he run into the captain before the Helicarrier incident? He knew that HYDRA had wiped his mind in the past, but why would they do so in the middle of a mission, before the target had been eliminated?

The noise of running water pulled the Soldier's mind back into the present. He wondered how long they had been riding, but he could not tell. Through the painful action of looking up, the Soldier saw the moon, gleaming bright and full, over a long river which shone like glass. The water's gentle sound was soothing, and the Soldier closed his eyes and listened to it as they rode over the fords.

The valley spread out before the travelers beautifully, but Aragorn had no time to admire the view. Now that they had crossed the fords, they were only a few minutes from Imladris, and it was likely they would run into a patrol of some kind soon. Aragorn hoped it would be someone he knew very well so that there would be no delay, and he did not have to wait long to find out.

Another horse's gallop could be heard above the running water, and a call came from the road ahead demanding a halt. To the Soldier, the words were foreign, but Aragorn easily understood them. The ranger pulled the steed to a stop and replied quickly in Sindarin.

"Estel?" the unknown person asked in the dark, dismounting and walking forward.

"Glorfindel!" Aragorn cried with joy. Keeping his words in Sindarin, he greeted his life-long friend. "Well met! I am in haste, for I have with me a man in serious need of Master Elrond's healing."

"Who is he?"

"I do not know. I found him battling a troll about two or three hours ago. You have a swift steed; would you ride ahead and tell Lord Elrond of the matter?"

"With a good will."

Glorfindel leapt atop his horse, and with a quick command, the horse sped away into the night. The Soldier was curious about the identity of the man who had stopped them, and he tried to remember ever seeing such a person as the two rode on. The man was, in form, similar to all other men, but his eyes shone brightly, and his bearing was innately graceful. Strange.

It was becoming harder and harder for the Soldier to maintain consciousness. The night was getting darker, even though lights were appearing on either side of the path, which was now paved. The horse crossed a thin bridge, and the Soldier felt the cool spray of water against his cheek. Just as his vision went completely black, he saw a tall, dark-haired man of the same bearing as the one who had stopped them coming toward him.

Aragorn realized that his passenger had passed out, and he quickly dismounted and helped Elrond get the injured man onto a stretcher than had been brought. The ranger was very concerned for the man, but he was still very glad to see Elrond after so long a parting.

"Is there anything I can do, my lord?" he asked.

"No, nothing save going to take your rest, my son. Your horse and your things will be taken care of, as will your guest."

Aragorn smiled and bowed to Elrond respectfully. He was still worried about the injured man, but he was confident in Elrond's healing capabilities, and he really did need some sleep. He walked through the familiar halls of Imladris toward his quarters and sighed with contentment. He was home.

**. . .**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: And another chapter for you guys! This one is kind of short, and I know some would like longer chapters, but rest assured they are on their way.**

**. . .**

The Soldier awoke to a strange feeling. The surface beneath him was soft and comfortable, supporting his weight so that he would not be stiff. It was also clean, and the air smelled fresh and nice. The temperature was warm, but not hot, and the light indicated late morning. The Soldier could not remember ever feeling so at ease.

This blissful ecstasy was shattered when the Soldier tried to adjust his position. He had forgotten about his injuries, though as pain flared across his limbs, he realized that he was much better today than he had been when he and the stranger had ridden through the woods. Gazing around casually, the Soldier saw that he was in a small room with open windows looking toward a beautiful valley. Waterfalls poured down sheer cliffs, the noise of their decent barely audible but still present. The trees bore healthy, bright leaves, giving the whole image a sheen of glory.

Memories of the previous night flooded into the Soldier's mind, and he became more aware of himself and began attuning his senses, he turned his attention to the room he occupied. The furniture was sparse, but it was a clean, well-kept space. The main item of notice, however, was the figure sitting casually in a chair near the bed on which the Soldier rested. The man's head was down as he read from a book on his lap, and his dark hair obscured his face.

When the Soldier attempted to move again, the figure looked up to reveal that he was the same stranger from last night. The Soldier suddenly felt at a total loss as he seemed to have no protocol for this situation. He had no clear memory of anyone ever helping him before. What would a normal person do? Give a statement of thanks? The Soldier was not sure how to do that appropriately. Even if he had known how before going through the strange abyss, the customs could be different here.

"I apologize for our rough meeting yesterday," the man said. "To formally introduce myself, I am Aragorn. How do you fare this morning?"

The man's voice was kind and glad, though at the same time, it was wise and serious. Aragorn's presence was soothing, and the Soldier felt that he did not need to be afraid of him. However, that did not mean he was ready to pick up a conversation. He was not even sure what the answer to Aragorn's question was. Assessing his own condition, the Soldier tried to force himself to open his mouth in answer, but he could not think of words to say, nor could he fight through the dehumanizing fog of HYDRA's programming. He remained silent, but he held Aragorn's gaze steadily.

"After your ordeal," the ranger said after a moment, "no one would blame you for keeping your thoughts to yourself. Master Elrond, the lord of this valley and a master healer, says that you have already made remarkable improvements in the short amount of time you have been here. You heal incredibly fast, more quickly even than is natural for elven folk. Lord Elrond estimates that you will be fully recovered in a week's time. Would you like something to eat?"

The mention of food brought a swift nod from the Soldier, and Aragorn smiled and stood to his feet. He walked over to a table a few feet away and picked up a tray containing a cup of cool wine as well as a plate with a variety of fruits, vegetables, and meats. The Soldier struggled into a sitting position and Aragorn put the tray on his lap.

"Do not hesitate to ask me for anything you desire," Aragorn said, plopping back into his chair.

The Soldier was surprised that Aragorn remained in the room and seemed ready to make good his offer. Why would a stranger wait on someone like a servant if there was no debt owed or no advantage to be gleaned? Aragorn had made no mention at all of HYDRA, and his behavior was totally inconsistent with HYDRA patterns. What did this Aragorn hope to gain from helping him?

Aragorn stole a look at the Soldier, who was eagerly eating what was on the tray. Elrond had spoken about the wonder of the metal arm for longer than was usual when describing the man's condition earlier that morning. Aragorn, if he were generous, might have even called Elrond's manner _excited_. It was indeed an amazing device to behold.

There was something strange behind the man's eyes. He seemed lost. There was pain behind his expression, as if it had been engraved there from some great or long trial, and Aragorn pitied him. By his silence in response to Aragorn's previous question, the ranger knew it could be days before they received any personal information about the man.

"Would you be willing to tell me your name?" Aragorn asked when the Soldier was finished with his tray.

The Soldier was troubled greatly by the inquiry. What _was_ his name? HYDRA had never really called him anything except an asset. Images of the Helicarrier and the exhibit flew into the Soldier's mind unbidden, though he tried to shove them out.

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._

The Soldier clenched his hands a little and closed his eyes. Aragorn picked up on this immediately and attempted to calm the situation down.

"You need not feel obligated to respond. I have refused to give my name in many places and at many times. Often times, people give me a name instead of asking for one."

The Soldier recalled the greeting of the strange person on the road. He had named Aragorn "Estel", which was clearly not simply a shortened version of his true name. The title of the Winter Soldier was also a given name, not a chosen one. The Soldier nodded in response to Aragorn's comment, and Aragorn grinned softly.

"If you do not object, I name you Rancelevon, arm of silver, for now. There may be a day when you are fully revealed to me, but there is no reason for haste."

At that moment, two young looking men entered the door and strode quickly toward Aragorn, bearing wide grins. Aragorn met them halfway, and the two men each embraced the ranger. The Soldier saw that these men had the same bright eyes and graceful air about them as others he had seen in this valley, but he did not ask about it.

"Rancelevon," Aragorn said, "allow me to introduce you to my lords Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond. They are as my brothers and have been my close companions since childhood."

"Your name is well-suited," Elrohir remarked with a polite smile. "I suppose Estel gave it to you?" The Soldier nodded.

"Estel means 'hope'," Elladan explained. "When he used to live here, that's what we all called him."

"How was your journey from the Shire?" Elrohir asked, turning to face Aragorn directly. "No incidents besides the notable one before us, I trust?"

Aragorn smiled. "None. It was pleasant indeed. The only thing worth noting is the lack of travelers on the road."

"Evil things are stirring," Elladan stated sadly. "People grow restless and fearful, though they do not yet have anything to fear."

"Except trolls," Elrohir reminded his brother with a playful grin.

"Quite right. Estel, the midday meal is soon. Will you be joining us in the great hall?"

"It is likely," the ranger replied, stealing a quick glance in Rancelevon's direction. He was not sure if Rancelevon would want to be left alone, so he added onto his previous statement. "Do not wait for me if I do not arrive on time."

"Oh, we won't," Elladan said with a laugh. "You needn't worry."

The two brothers walked out of the room together, and Aragorn settled back into his chair. The Soldier slowly returned to a lying position, and while his mechanistic mind had little interest in the ranger, there was a small part of him that was curious about the man's past. He mulled over in his mind what he had heard from Elladan and Elrohir, and soon he fell into another peaceful sleep.

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**I hope you enjoyed it! The Sindarin name I gave the Soldier comes from the combination ranc (arm) + celevon (of silver). What did y'all think? Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Here's chapter 6! I beg of you, my wonderful readers, to please give me some more feedback! Several of you have done so, for which I thank you from the bottom of my heart. The rest of you have a chance of redemption now! Review! :)**

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The Soldier awoke just as the sun was beginning to set, surprised he had slept all day. Looking over to his side, he saw that Aragorn was still there, sitting in his chair. The Soldier wondered if the man had stayed with him the entire time. Now, instead of reading, the ranger was cleaning a sword that was broken halfway down the blade. By the way Aragorn held it, the Soldier could tell that it was an important object, not just a damaged weapon.

This only caused him to be more curious about Aragorn, a sensation he had seldom experienced. The Soldier looked long and hard at the ranger, especially studying his grey eyes. They somehow seemed to have years and years of wisdom, although the man's physical appearance did not indicate even half a century of life. The man soon noticed that the Soldier was awake, and that caused him to sheath his sword and smile.

"I trust your rest was well, Rancelevon?"

Rancelevon. That was the name Aragorn had given him this morning. The Soldier decided it was a good name, and anyway he was glad to be called something that implied he was a person, not an asset. The name Bucky flew through his head again, but he shook it out. Even if it was possible that he had been someone named Bucky, he was definitely not that person today.

"Yes," Rancelevon said evenly. Aragorn was both surprised and delighted to get an audible response from the guest, so he continued.

"Dinner will be in the great hall shortly. Would you like to attend? No one will pester you with questions; I've already seen to that. It may do you some good to move about since you are healing so nicely."

Rancelevon thought about the invitation for a moment. It would be best to walk around, and he desired a change of scenery. Besides, he was getting hungry and thirsty, and there would probably be more food at a table than on a tray. If Aragorn went with him, he figured that it would be alright.

"I will come," he answered.

"That is well," Aragorn said with a grin. "There are some clothes folded on that table if you would like to change. I will return in about five minutes to show you to the hall."

Aragorn stood from his place and exited through the door. Rancelevon was alone, a feeling that not only felt odd in this new place, but one that also ushered in the unwanted war of the Soldier's mind. Aragorn's presence in the room had been a welcome distraction from internal restlessness, but but with the ranger gone, images of the Helicarrier flashed through Rancelevon's thoughts.

As he gingerly contorted his body to dress in the strange but comfortable clothes, Rancelevon began to realize that more and more memories without context were appearing in his mind. He could remember when he had first awakened from the operation that gifted him his gleaming metal arm. He remembered with horror some of the episodes of conditioning he had endured with HYDRA to become the Winter Soldier. He even seemed to see Captain America, or Steve, as a younger, much smaller man.

_You know me._

A welcome knock at the door ended the feud and Rancelevon stepped slowly toward the door, feeling some pain in his limbs, but not too much. Aragorn was waiting patiently on the other side, looking almost lordly in his more formal clothes.

"Are you ready?"

Rancelevon nodded, and Aragorn began to lead the way through the winding halls of the Last Homely House. Much of their path included balconies outside, and it was there, with an unobscured view, that Rancelevon experienced Imladris to its fullest. No amount of mental conditioning could possibly make someone indifferent to the beauty of Rivendell. Rancelevon was astounded by the sheer and yet majestic walls of the valley, the sparkling river flowing beneath, and the pleasant aroma of the air. The sun's last rays only added to the greatness of the place, and Rancelevon did what he had not done since becoming the Winter Soldier: he smiled. Externally, it was a very short and unimpressive grin, but the glorious feeling it sparked—though brief—was like a glimpse of heaven for the Soldier's soul.

"The beauty of Imladris is unsurpassed in Middle-earth," Aragorn said when he saw Rancelevon's awe. "Here is preserved the glory of the Elder Days, for darkness has not yet the power to taint this blessed valley."

After a couple minutes of walking, the pair reached the great hall. The hall contained a long, decorated table and a big hearth in the corner. One whole side of the room was without a wall, instead comprised of a huge balcony with benches and tables. The place was clearly made for many people to stay in at once, and already several chairs at the long table were filled.

Aragorn escorted Rancelevon to a seat and then sat beside him, an honor for which Rancelevon was grateful. While the talk between those seated at the table remained casual, Aragorn pointed to different people and told Rancelevon about who they were. Although the foreigner had no recollection of the events or places Aragorn used to identify those present, he stored the information and nodded when appropriate.

There were several guests of the same people as Lord Elrond and his sons, a fact which hardly surprised Rancelevon. However, he was greatly astonishing to witness the arrival of other, much more strange looking races. A few guests were very short and sturdily built. They had long, thick beards with intricate braids, and most wore armor instead of regular clothes. Aragorn said that these people were representatives from the Lonely Mountain.

While Aragorn was talking, he was suddenly interrupted by a small voice from behind. "Dúnadan! How pleased I am to see you!"

Rancelevon turned around to see the smallest man he had ever observed. He was only about three and a half feet tall, and his feet were enormous and hairy. His face was wrinkled with age, but his eyes were merry, and he seemed to smile unceasingly.

"You have been in Imladeris almost a full day, and yet I haven't seen you once. Why haven't you come to greet me, Dúnadan?"

"I have been about other business, my dear hobbit," the ranger replied with a grin. "Rancelevon, this is Bilbo Baggins."

Rancelevon dipped his head as he had seen others do, and the hobbit returned the gesture. "I have heard a little about your meeting with Dúnadan in the woods. It was so exhilarating! We three simply must sit down sometime and discuss it. It would make for a wonderful song."

"Perhaps someday soon," Aragorn replied.

The hobbit took the place beside Rancelevon, chatting and talking with the man without expecting any answers. He told of his friendship with Dúnadan during his years in Rivendell, his home in the Shire, and his own adventure to the Lonely Mountain. Rancelevon liked him.

"What does the name 'Dúnadan' mean?" Rancelevon asked before he realized how comfortable he was in the hobbit's company.

"Man of the West, as in Númenorean," Bilbo explained. "I did not give it to him though; many folk around here call him that, among other names."

All the seats were now filled, and Elrond stood from his place at the head of the table and called for silence. He then gave a general greeting to his guests and instructed the servers to bring out the food. Rancelevon's mouth watered at the scent of the meal, and when it arrived, he held nothing back. He filled up his plate with a variety of dishes until nothing more could fit, doing so a second and third time later in the course of the meal. He was amazed to find that Bilbo consumed just as much as he himself did, if not more. The elderly hobbit said it was a trait of his people.

When the meal as finished, most people left to their rooms, but Bilbo convinced Rancelevon and Aragorn to remain with him near the hearth for a few minutes to listen to the elves sing and play instruments. Rancelevon was almost immediately lost in the tales of far off lands and heroes, and even during the songs performed in another language, he felt he could understand them based on the tone. Sitting near Bilbo, with Aragorn standing beside them, Rancelevon fell into a peaceful doze.

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**I have personally been to the valley which inspired Tolkien, at the age of nineteen, to make up Rivendell. I can say without a doubt that no amount of mental conditioning could make you indifferent to such beauty. It is an amazing place. Please leave a review! I would greatly appreciate it!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

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Aragorn walked slowly into the small room where Elrond awaited him and sat down. The lordly elf smiled when his foster son entered, but his mood was serious. Erestor, who had been standing near Elrond, bowed his head and exited quietly, closing the door behind him. Aragorn cleared his throat and looked Elrond in the eye.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," the elf replied. "I wish to speak to you of Rancelevon. Has he yet disclosed anything about his past to you?"

"No, but he is warming up by the hour," Aragorn said, offering some defense for the man. "He barely hesitates to ask questions anymore, and he eagerly receives answers."

"What kinds of questions does he ask?"

"Well," the ranger said, trying to remember specific instances, "he did not seem to know about races other than Men, so he is curious about elves, dwarves, and hobbits. Of course Bilbo has gladly elaborated on the latter."

Elrond grinned, but still his expression was somber. "It is a strange thing that he should know so little of the world around him."

"It is indeed," Aragorn agreed. "I have felt curious emptiness behind his eyes at times, almost as if he were not a person at all, but only part of one."

"I have seen this also. He has a thick darkness behind him," the elven lord said distantly, "and I fear he was once subjected to a great evil. That does not mean that he himself is willingly an agent of this evil, but he must be cleansed of it."

"What do you propose?"

"That is the problem. It is difficult for me to give any counsel when I do not know the evil itself or how it has affected him. His body has almost returned to health, but in order to truly heal his mind, we must know what was done to him, or possibly what he has done himself."

Aragorn frowned. "He has only been here three days. I would not deem it wise to press him in the matter yet. Perhaps he will reveal himself to us without our asking when the time is right."

"It is certainly possible," Elrond affirmed, "but he may be in greater peril than we realize, and the longer we wait, the more darkness festers in his mind. In the end, the body alone is not what makes a man, and if we neglect his soul, our assistance is in vain. I do not suggest any sort of coarse probing of him for answers, but rather that we give greater attention to the deepest wounds he bears. His soul may be in darkness, but we walk in the light, Aragorn. We must show it to him."

Aragorn let Elrond's words sink into his mind, and he nodded in agreement. "Would that I could reflect that light adequately," he said as he stood. "I suppose that is simply a part of the tale, though; that even in my weakness, I may be used to show forth a power greater than myself. After all, it could only be by the will of Eru that I found Rancelevon at all. Perhaps we are the appointed instruments of healing for Rancelevon as his story unfolds."

Elrond smiled softly and stood to his feet. He put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder and gazed over the ranger for a few seconds. "You have the wisdom of your sires and a heart that pleases Eru. I am thankful for you."

Aragorn dipped his head modestly. "I received upright teaching from the days of my youth."

With those words, the ranger dismissed himself. He walked from the room in which he had been seated and down toward the great hall. There, as he expected, he found Rancelevon sitting beside Bilbo, listening to the minstrels play with his eyes closed. At Aragorn's footsteps, he opened his eyes and gave a small smile.

"Ah, there you are, Dúnadan!" Bilbo exclaimed from his spot near the hearth. "I was just going to chant the verses I composed about you to Rancelevon. They are not very good, perhaps, but they are to the point. Do you mind if I recite them?"

"Of course not, my good hobbit," the ranger replied. "They are quite flattering to me."

"Very well," Bilbo said, straightening on his stool and clearing his throat.

_All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken:_

_The crownless again shall be king._

Rancelevon was baffled by the poem's words. He had known that Aragorn was lordly and of high lineage, but these verses seemed to imply that he was heir to a kingship. The broken sword he had been cleaning must indeed be a special heirloom of great significance. Feeling suddenly different in the ranger's presence, Rancelevon held back his questions and straightened involuntarily. Aragorn laughed merrily when he saw Rancelevon's changed manner.

"I may be the heir of kings," he said, "but I am still a man like you. Do not fear! Many have behaved thus on hearing it, but you need not be hesitant. I desire to earn men's honor and respect, not be given it as a gift."

Rancelevon smiled warmly and nodded. He liked Aragorn. The ranger sat down near him and the two listened to the elves sing for quite some time. At last, the evening turned to night, and Aragorn arose.

"Would you mind my accompanying you to your room, Rancelevon? I have something I want to ask you."

Rancelevon nodded slowly, though he dreaded what Aragorn would ask him. He still wanted to refrain from any discussion of his past, for he now knew that he hated it, and he felt greater and greater shame the longer he stayed with such honorable people. He did not want to be the Soldier, but at the same time, he was both unsure and frightened about being Bucky. After all he had done, he doubted that he could ever be that man again. It would be better for Bucky if he remained a dead war hero, not a murderer who nearly killed his best friend, Captain America.

Finally, the two entered the room and Aragorn sat down in the same chair from which he had overseen Rancelevon's recovery. The ranger's kind smile made Rancelevon relax, and he sat down on the bed to listen to what Aragorn had to say.

"You are healing nicely, correct?"

"Yes."

"Would you be opposed to going hunting with me in the morning? I enjoy a good hunt, and I thought you might like to explore the woods and river below. Does that interest you?"

Rancelevon had never hunted anything other than his targets, and the idea of turning that murderous skill into a productive yet recreational exercise was appealing. He had wanted to walk by the river, and it would be much more enjoyable if he went with Aragorn. He made up his mind and nodded.

"Excellent. I will come to wake you at dawn. Don't worry about getting anything prepared; I will have everything ready."

Rancelevon nodded again and Aragorn stood up. "I hope you have a pleasant rest," the ranger said as he exited the room, easing the door closed behind him.

Rancelevon sat still for only a few moments before standing and changing into sleeping garments. In the solitude, his mind began racing again, something he had come no closer to controlling in the days he had been here. He had now remembered many details of Bucky's life, though he still thought independently of them. It was as if he were constantly gathering more information on someone he did not know instead of on himself. Only a few of the memories even felt real. The rest were just pictures and facts that had little effect on Rancelevon's conscious mind.

It would have been manageable except for the constant presence of Steve Rogers in these memories, something which caused Rancelevon pain he could not shake. His mind would repeat again and again the incident on the Helicarrier, and no matter how many times he had heard it, the words remained just as deadly now as they had been when Steve actually said them.

_I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend._

Rancelevon clenched his teeth and slipped under the covers of his bed. He strained his ears, trying to hear the voices of the elven singers. He finally caught their melody, and closing his eyes, he tried to forget his struggles. Eventually, the music lulled him to sleep, but even then, Steve's face did not leave his mind for a second.

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**You guys better brace yourselves; things are about to get interesting. Remember to review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Here's the eighth chapter. I encourage you to read it all and get to my note at the end. If you stop halfway through in confusion at my choice of content, don't give up. And of course, don't forget to review!**

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Rancelevon snapped his eyes open. Something was terribly wrong, not in the room or in the valley, but in his mind. The never-ending war of his thoughts still raged, yet now there was a distinct difference. Instead of a fight between the mechanical mind of HYDRA's Winter Soldier and uncategorized memories of another life, it seemed that the memories represented a person who was wrestling for control. It caught Rancelevon so off his guard that he did not know how to fight back or even what exactly he was fighting.

Suddenly, before even a minute had passed since Rancelevon's waking, every piece of the puzzle in his mind clicked together. All the memories formed themselves into a history, and all the fragments of Bucky's thoughts fused. Bucky was himself again, not just in facts or feelings, but in whole. Rancelevon was Bucky.

Steve's face flashed in his thoughts, and the incident on the Helicarrier played itself again just as it had done so many times before. However, this time it brought with it a terrible horror and anguish, such as cannot be expressed with words. The full weight of guilt fell on him for all the people he had killed and all the pain he had inflicted, their fearful expressions flashing through Bucky's mind as he relived their deaths. His vision swam with red—red like the blood of his victims. But more than anything, the image of Steve lying on the ground, battered and beaten nearly to death, dominated Bucky's consciousness, almost suffocating him with the sheer agony of the truth. His friend had been brutalized within an inch of his life, and it was by Bucky's own hand.

The psychological battle soon took physical form. The air was knocked from Bucky's lungs as if by a battering ram, and he nearly vomited as the sickening feeling spread to his stomach. He buckled over and crashed to the floor, writhing in self-inflicted pain without relief. At first, he hurt too much to cry, but eventually tears formed in his eyes as he sucked in breaths shakily.

His wits were slow in returning, and even when he regained the ability to think with reason, he was still bound fast in turmoil. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning on the bed's solid structure and trying to reign in his mind. He gripped the wooden frame with both hands and squeezed it, the strength of his metal arm causing the wood to crack. It was then that a knock sounded at the door, and Bucky remembered the hunt.

"Rancelevon?" the ranger's voice called from outside. Bucky could do nothing but sit there, heaving deep breaths and wishing vainly that he were able to put on a guise of control.

Aragorn could not hear anything from the other side of the door, but he felt that something was amiss. He opened the door and started forward as soon as he took in the tortured state of Rancelevon. He gently knelt down and placed his hand on Rancelevon's shoulder, but it did not seem to dispel the man's darkness.

"Rancelevon, what is wrong? Has something happened to you?" Aragorn asked in concern.

Bucky looked up into the ranger's eyes, searching desperately for relief. There was pity in them, but also wondering. Aragorn could not offer much help because he did not know why Bucky was upset. He didn't even know who Bucky_ was_.

"Rancelevon," Aragorn said as calmly as he could, "come with me. If you desire to speak of what is causing you such terrible pain, I think your discomfort will be eased. If not, then at least let us ride so that you may forget for a while your torments."

Though Bucky wondered if he could ride at all in his present condition, he agreed with the faint hope that Aragorn's presence would bring comfort. The ranger helped him rise to his feet, and after Bucky had dressed, they walked together to the stables. Two horses were already saddled and bridled, and Bucky knew enough about riding to manage on his own. Aragorn led the way down a trail, looking back every now and then only to see his companion remain in the same shaken condition. He was very worried about the man, but for a while he said nothing.

After about half an hour of riding, Aragorn stopped his horse in a small clearing at the river's side and dismounted. Bucky followed his example, now debating with himself about what he should tell the ranger. If Aragorn heard of all the evil things Bucky had done, he might abandon him or even call for his punishment. While Bucky believed both those options would be fair reactions, he wasn't sure he could bear either one.

"Rancelevon," the ranger began as they both sat down, "I know that your past causes you pain, but I beseech you to confide in me, if you are willing. You should not bear this heavy burden alone! For your own sake, do not keep inside what that poisons you."

Bucky made his decision as he looked into the ranger's gleaming grey eyes, seeing in them only pity and no accusation. Taking in a shaky breath, he began his tale and told it in full, painting the bleak but realistic picture of the horrors he had seen and the sins he had committed. Aragorn listened in wonder and silence, giving away no emotion in his constant solemn expression. When Bucky finally finished relating his encounter with the troll, he became quiet.

For several minutes, neither spoke. Bucky desperately wanted Aragorn to say something to indicate a response, even if it was condemning, but the ranger kept silent as he continued to mull over all that had been said. To Bucky's surprise, Aragorn's eyes began to glisten with tears, and although he had not said a word, somehow Bucky knew the man was sorry for him, not angry at him.

"Aragorn, tell me what I'm supposed to do," Bucky said at last, nearly breaking into a sob but choking it back with what little restraint he still possessed. His tone was one of desperation, and he looked at Aragorn with eyes pleading for an answer.

The ranger did not answer right away, though he met Bucky's gaze to show that he had indeed heard the question. Aragorn knew that this was the moment for which Elrond had prepared him, and did not want to give a rash reply to such a deep inquiry. Sending up a silent prayer, he finally drew in a breath and spoke.

"I believe you must repent. You have seen and tasted the death of those chains which once bound you; forsake them and seek to do what you know is right."

"But what does that mean for me?" Bucky asked grimly. "I do not know how to fix what I've done. Most of it is beyond me now."

"I know," Aragorn answered, his voice even and calm. "There is nothing you can do to reverse what has happened. But you can claim responsibility for your faults and seek forgiveness from those who remain."

Bucky ran his human hand through his long hair and shook his head with a slow sigh. "I hear what you're saying, but it doesn't solve the underlying issue."

"The guilt itself," Aragorn finished before his companion could voice the phrase. Bucky seemed a bit surprised that the ranger had guessed the root of his problem, but he remained silent as he hoped for further explanation or counsel.

"I have heard it said," Aragorn continued, "that to know the good news, one must first fully understand the bad news. To appreciate the dawn, one must have endured the darkness and cold of the night. You are a sinful man, James Barnes. So am I, and so are all those of our race. If we ourselves sought to provide a life which could pass the standard of righteousness, we would fall short. If we ourselves tried to atone for the wrongs we commit, we would fall short. We _do_ fall short.

"That is why we cannot rely on ourselves. We are but a stroke in the long tale of history, Bucky. A blink in the eye of eternity. We were never meant to be autonomous, and especially when our moral plight is considered, we must put our trust in a stronger foundation than fallible mankind. We are mere creatures, you and I. But there is a Creator."

Aragorn's talk harkened back to the hundreds of times Bucky had been dragged to church by his mother when he was only a boy. He had hardly given any of that a second thought since those days, but then again, he had never allowed himself to feel the need for forgiveness before. There was no denying his depravity now, and he knew that no amount of good works could wash the crimson stains from his hands. Aragorn was making sense; it was just a matter of understanding how it would be possible for a just Creator to not condemn someone as wicked as himself.

"How should I go about seeking forgiveness if I do not belong here?" Bucky inquired after a several minutes of deep thought. "I don't even know what happened to get me out of my own…place. I really do want to do what you said, but I can't make myself return."

"Leave it to the One who sent you," Aragorn replied. "I'm sure there is a plan."

"What am I supposed to do until then?"

The ranger shrugged. "Go hunting, perhaps?"

Bucky smiled and nodded, rising from the grass and feeling much less lost than before. Guilt still weighed on his shoulders, but now he had a goal in mind, and a possible solution to go with it. Aragorn stood with him and moved to mount his horse, but Bucky stepped forward and embraced him warmly before they continued the hunt. The ranger was surprised by the gesture after having observed the man's stoic behavior for days, but he returned the hug gladly.

"Thank you, Aragorn," Bucky said as he pulled back. "You remind me a lot of Steve. Thanks for listening and for helping me see."

Aragorn considered the comparison to Steve one of highest possible compliments Bucky could give him, and he bowed his head in modesty. Both men then mounted their horses and began trotting down the trail again, heads held high and minds free for the moment of sorrow. The hunt was on, but the healing was nearly complete.

**. . .**

**Yes, I included Christian ideas into this story. I realize that many of you out there might not hold to my beliefs, and that doesn't mean you have to quit reading. As weird as it sounds to this generation, you actually can just disagree and read on; this is not a story only for people who agree with me. I would like to add that, in my defense, Tolkien was a strong Christian, and Middle-earth was made with a biblical worldview in mind (if this is unclear, please see **_**The Silmarillion**_**). If you're confused or upset, I'd ask that you don't abandon the story yet; just wait for my longer explanation when it appears. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Welcome to chapter 9. I hope y'all enjoy it. Please review!**

**. . .**

"That is quite a tale," Elrond said, leaning back in his chair. He had been speaking with Aragorn on the subject of their guest's past for some time, and the elf felt—for the first time in some years—out of his depth. "And you believe what he says to be true?"

"I do," Aragorn confirmed with a nod. "There is no reason to fabricate such a story."

Elrond knew his foster son's words to be true. If Rancelevon had wanted to craft a lie, he would have made it more believable. Still, it was difficult for even the son of Eärendil to swallow despite all the strange things he had seen in his lifetime.

"If I had known his darkness was so great," Elrond ventured after a moment, "I would have perhaps recommended action sooner. I did not realize he bore such pain."

"Neither did I," Aragorn said. "This 'HYDRA' he speaks of trained him to not feel pain, or at least not like we do. It is only by the grace of Eru that he retained any remnant of sanity."

"Indeed," the Elrond agreed. "What is his plan now that he knows himself and his guilt?"

"I have told him to seek forgiveness, and I believe he will when he returns. Until Eru sends him back to his land, he wishes to remain in Imladris, with your blessing of course."

"He will have it," Elrond replied with a small grin. The Lord of Rivendell stood from his seat and stepped toward the door of the small room. "I am encouraged through this experience," the elf remarked distantly. "Darkness can mar things beyond recognition, but never beyond healing. There is light and beauty that no shadow can touch. There is always hope."

Aragorn grinned as he following the elf to the exit. "It is no small wonder that Sauron has such great fear of the light; darkness is merely the absence of light, and when the light shines on it, the darkness cannot overcome it." Then, in a quiet voice, he whispered a part of Bilbo's poem. "From the ashes a fire shall be woken; a light from the shadow shall spring."

Elrond said nothing in response, but he felt the weight of the truth, recalling to his mind how Morgoth had been defeated at the end of the First Age when all hope seemed gone. Despite all the poison sown in the world and its inhabitances, forgiveness and joy were found in the end, by the grace of Eru. No Dark Lord could take what Eru held in His hand, nor could one overcome what He purposed.

The ranger bowed respectfully to Elrond and then excused himself. He walked down the halls to the hearth where he was greeted by the familiar sight of Bilbo and Bucky listening to the elves sing. Bilbo had a stack of parchment on his lap, and he kept looking up and speaking with Bucky before scribbling down more notes.

"Good afternoon, my friends," Aragorn said brightly. "How do you two fare?"

"Quite well, Dúnadan," the hobbit said without looking up. "Rancelevon is telling me more of his first encounter with you. I am writing the long-anticipated song to tell that great tale. Someday it will be a cherished classic!"

Bucky and Aragorn looked at each other and smiled. The elderly hobbit continued to write away as Aragorn approached the warm hearth and sat down. It felt strange to sit beside someone who had done and suffered so much, but the feeling soon passed. Bucky was his friend, and that was how he would treat him.

The afternoon passed by quickly as the song took shape. The three mortals worked and laughed over their work while the elves continued create beautiful music on the other side of the room. Bucky, now able to consciously enjoy the experience, felt happiness that he had not known since he was with Steve and the Howling Commandos in 1945. A part of him wished he could remain in Imladris forever, though his desire to see Steve was much stronger.

At about five o'clock, the boar Aragorn and Bucky had killed on their hunt had finished cooking, and the great hall filled with guests. The dinner was delicious, as always, and Bucky contributed to the conversation almost normally. The dwarves were particularly fascinated with his arm, and when he had made it plain that he was willing to talk, they asked him countless questions about it. The guests spoke together late into the evening until the moon rose and most people retired.

When the hall had cleared out, Bucky went out to the edge of the balcony and stared over the valley, taking in every detail that he could. The stars shone brightly, and the river sparkled like glass beneath them. The only sounds were trees stirring in the wind and birds giving their last calls of the day. It was truly the picture of splendor, and though it calmed the pain he still bore, no beauty could erase it. Aragorn's words had soothed him greatly, but he was still guilty, and he was inclined to doubt that he could receive complete forgiveness from anyone. He certainly didn't deserve it.

"What is it that plagues your mind, Bucky?" Aragorn asked as he stepped up to his friend's side. "You seem troubled."

"The valley seems so pure and clean," Bucky said with a sigh. "I don't belong here. It's almost like I can feel the blood on my hands. I am comforted by what you've told me, but it doesn't change the reality I'm living in now."

"Your healing will be complete when you return to your world," Aragorn assured him.

"But can we really count on that?" Bucky inquired, looking his companion in the eye. "You sound more confident than I can understand."

Aragorn put his hand on Bucky's shoulder firmly. "I do not possess infinite wisdom, but I do think that based on where your story has led you, it is likely that your stay here has only been preparation for your life in your own world. Events are not ordered by chance; all things progress towards one goal, whether on the scale of one man or in reference to all the histories of all the worlds. Take comfort in our reliance on wisdom higher than our own."

Bucky was unaccustomed to relying on anyone or anything for his own survival, but in this case, he truly had no other choice. He gave a slow nod and then turned away from the beautiful view of the valley and towards his own quarters. He could stop neither his nightmarish memories nor the constant string of accusations from appearing in his mind; he might as well not give himself something more to worry about. He'd rather cling to hope and be wrong anyway.

"Please," he called quietly to the silence in his room as he took one last look out his window before going to bed. "Please, can I go home?"

It was not merely the desire of someone who had been sent to a completely different world than his own for several days, but also the plea of one who had not truly been home since he left it as a young soldier in 1945. Bucky didn't know if he believed anyone would hear his words, but he felt a bit better for having said them. And there was the off chance that they weren't in vain.

**. . .**

**Feedback in exchange for more chapters, okay? ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: I know this chapter is somewhat short, but the next will be much longer, I promise. A big thanks to those who review; it means so much to me!**

**. . .**

It was just after dawn that Bucky awoke. He sat up, and looking out his open window, he saw that it was quite a pleasant morning. He stood and ventured out of his room to a balcony, taking deep draughts of fresh air and straining his ears for any signs of other people in the area. He heard nothing, and seeing a few figures on the river bank, he decided to take the walk to the shore himself.

It was an easy, ten minute stroll to the water's edge. When Bucky had reached it, he recognized the people near the river as Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir. They appeared to have a predetermined path which made Bucky assume they were about a task, but when they spotted him, they made their way in his direction.

"Good morning, Rancelevon," Elrohir said pleasantly. "Did you rest well?"

"Yes, thank you," Bucky replied. "Are you three doing anything particular?"

"Not in the strictest sense," Aragorn replied. "We were planning on saddling up and scouting out Rivendell's western border soon, though right now we are only discussing the matter. With trolls so close to the road, we must assess the situation closer to our own lands before evil can gain any footholds."

"Would you like to accompany us?" Elladan asked politely.

"No thanks," Bucky declined. "I think I've had enough of trolls for a while."

They all four laughed together. "I guess Estel still needs to learn his lesson," Elrohir chuckled, "though I doubt he will do so in daylight, when all trolls will be in their caves."

"If we are to be back for sure tonight," Elladan said, "I think we should start out soon."

"I agree," Aragorn said. "Let us make what preparations are needed and be off within the hour. Shall I fill our water skins while you two saddle the horses?"

"We will meet you at the stable," Elrohir said. "Don't be too long." With that, the sons of Elrond walked off together, leaving Aragorn and Bucky temporarily alone.

"I must go fetch the skins," the ranger said, turning to face his companion directly. "But you could walk with me if you wish."

"Certainly," Bucky said, stepping to Aragorn's side and following him down the river's side. As they walked, Bucky became slowly aware of a strange sensation. He lifted his right arm and noticed that he had goose bumps, and he felt as one does before they are electrocuted. Suddenly he remembered that he had experienced this same feeling right before plunging into the dark abyss in the museum.

"Are you alright?" Aragorn asked, having felt nothing.

Just when the ranger finished speaking, the strange darkness appeared only a few feet ahead. Aragorn saw it, but he was not drawn into it as Bucky was. To Bucky's joy, the force pulling him into the abyss, though irresistible, was not such that he had no time to think or react. Somehow it seemed that a brief farewell was intended.

"Good bye, Aragorn," Bucky said, wrapping his arms quickly around his friend. "I believe this is my door to home, and it's pulling me through."

"Farewell then, Bucky Rancelevon," the ranger said, returning the hug. "Give my regards to Steve when you see him. May you find forgiveness and peace, by Eru's grace!"

"Thank you," Bucky said, beginning to slip toward the small void. "And tell Bilbo goodbye for me. Farewell, Aragorn!"

The darkness swallowed him entirely, and he vanished from the ranger's sight. The darkness disappeared only a few seconds after Bucky, and in the space of one minute, Isildur's heir went from a common walk with a comrade to standing in a state of shock all alone.

Everything had happened so quickly that Aragorn felt almost cheated. Not only had he just met Bucky a few days ago, but the man's departure had been both unexpected and very short. There was so much Aragorn had desired to discuss with Bucky and learn from him, but now he would never have the chance.

"I hope our paths cross again," Aragorn said aloud, though there was no one to hear him. "But until then, may Eru bless you richly!"

It did not take long for Aragorn to fill the water skins, but he then angled back towards the house and went immediately to Elrond, wanting to notify him of Bucky's departure. He found the Lord of Imladris in his study, busy pouring over documents as he often was. At the ranger's entrance, the elf stood up and greeted his foster son with a smile.

"So the troll trackers have not yet gone abroad?" Elrond inquired with a raised brow.

"No, though we are about to depart. I have come to bring you some news, which is both good and sorrowful. Bucky has left, or more correctly _been taken_, to his own land. It was quite sudden, but I believe he will be safe."

Elrond was silent for a moment, pondering what he had just heard and acknowledging the information with only a nod. "I wish him the best," the elf said at last. "I think his healing here will lead to much greater things in his own story."

"I perceive this also," Aragorn agreed, "and I am glad of it."

"Enjoy your scouting trip," Elrond said, sitting back down. "I must now attend to my duties, but we will talk of this in greater detail later. Would you like me to tell Master Baggins?"

"No; I'll inform him on my way out," Aragorn said, feeling a responsibility to tell his friend of the matter directly. He dipped his head to Elrond in respect and exited the room, walking down the hallway and onto a flower-filled balcony where Bilbo often spent his mornings. He found the hobbit on a bench among the plants, reading from a small book on his lap.

"Bilbo," the ranger began, sitting down on the bench. "Rancelevon was called back to his own country this morning. He was sorry he could not say his farewell to you personally, but he told me to wish you well."

The hobbit looked up, at first seeming to be surprised but then calming down. "I figured his departure might be sudden," Bilbo revealed as he turned his eyes back to his book, "but I thought that I might finish the song before he left. It's a pity he shall never hear it, or at least not for a while."

"We shall see," Aragorn said distantly. "We may meet him again yet."

"I certainly hope so," the hobbit said, turning the page and pretending to be interested in the volume below him.

Aragorn nodded and sighed. "As do I."

**. . .**

**It was a very quick and sudden departure, I know. But I don't want this to become a novel; it's just supposed to be a short-ish story, so I made things flow as I saw fit. I mean, I am the writer. ;) You're getting near the end; review and keep on reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Alright, here's a nice long chapter. I humbly but adamantly request that you read the entire chapter and author's note, as some of the content will be controversial and I don't want you to get half the picture. An explanation will be given at the end. I hope you enjoy, and remember to review!**

**. . .**

Bucky was standing in the Smithsonian in the exact same place as he had been before getting pulled to Aragorn's world. Looking around, Bucky was surprised to see some of members of the large group he had joined to smuggle himself into the museum. It seemed that no time had passed at all since he left. However, upon examining himself, Bucky realized that he still wore his clothes from Imladris. Running his hand across his face, he could feel the scars from his encounter with the troll as well as the small beard he now had as a result of not shaving for many days.

"Excuse me, sir," an older security guard said, approaching Bucky from the side. "Are you alright? Can I help you with anything?"

Bucky quickly shoved his exposed silver hand into a pocket. The hesitance to speak that he had possessed as the Soldier came back to him, but he brushed it aside, knowing he must act normally. "No, thank you."

The guard nodded without looking convinced and began to walk back to his station when Bucky remembered that he did have a question. "Wait," he called, his voice bringing the man to face him again.

"Yes?"

"Do you know this area of the city very well?"

"Born and bred here. Why?"

"I need…" Bucky felt his question would sound stupid, and he sighed as he trailed off. Then, as Aragorn's face and advice came into his mind, his resolve hardened. "Could you direct me to the nearest church?"

The guard raised his eyebrows, but he did answer the question. "When you exit the building, take the first road to your left down about five blocks. There's a church on the corner, but I can't recall the name. It's a pretty small building, and it should have a sign or something. Does that help at all?"

"Yes," Bucky replied, thanking the man with a dip of his head. He then turned to the exit and walked out, following the man's instructions as quickly as he could.

The church was located just where the guard had said, and when Bucky reached it, he stood outside its doors and looked it over. The sign hanging above the door named the institution _Steadfast Hope Presbyterian Church_, and it displayed the service times beneath. Bucky was not sure which day of the week it was, but he was fairly certain it was not Sunday, and he began to wonder what he was supposed to do. Would the church be open on week days? Even if it was, Bucky didn't really have a game plan for what he was here to ask or find out. He sighed in frustration, hating indecisiveness more than danger, but he knew he could not just leave this opportunity and hope to have a better idea another day. Reaching forward, he found the door unlocked, and so he drew in a breath of determination and walked inside.

There was one long, wide room containing several long pews. A thin aisle stretched to a platform which had a podium, piano, and several microphone stands. The room was empty, but Bucky could hear some sort of commotion coming from a small doorway on the left wall, suggesting that someone was there. He let the door fall shut behind him as he moved cautiously forward, leaving the outcome of this trip in other hands.

The noise from the other hall eventually became clear enough for Bucky to distinguish it as a conversation. He watched the doorway and waited for the people to come out, hoping that they would either be understanding enough to indulge his confusion or quick to send him away. Finally, two men entered the large room, one old enough to be in his forties or fifties and the other barely an adult. When they saw Bucky, they stopped their conversation and headed in his direction, smiling politely.

"Good afternoon," the older man greeted. "Can we do something for you?"

Bucky again felt hesitant to speak, but he knew that Aragorn was right: he would never find freedom from his sins on his own. "I need to talk to someone who can answer tough questions."

The question was surprisingly forward to the men, but they were not displeased in the slightest. The younger immediately volunteered to finish the work they had been about, giving the elder an opportunity to speak with Bucky. With a gesturing hand, the older man led Bucky to the front pew and sat down with him.

"I am Daniel Hamilton, the senior pastor of this church. May I have your name?"

"James," Bucky replied, "but most people call me Bucky."

The pastor extended a hand, and Bucky shook it, all the while keeping his left hand safely hidden in his pocket. He now remembered that his clothes must look very strange, but Daniel did not seem to mind. The man was very friendly, with a deep voice and wise eyes, and Bucky was glad to speak with someone who felt like a father or uncle instead of merely a teacher.

"Before I begin any of my ramblings," Daniel said with a smile, "I would like to ask you a question: what is the source of your curiosity?"

Bucky was silent for a moment, and Daniel elaborated on his inquiry. "Many people come to church seeking health, wealth, and prosperity. These things are neither the goal nor the promise of Christianity, and I just thought I'd say right off the bat that if you're looking for your best life now, you'll be disappointed by the Church."

"I don't want material things," Bucky assured him. "This isn't about self-improvement." Bucky hated the thought of sitting here, confessing his faults to a complete stranger, but if the root of his problem was actually going to be addressed, he had to be honest. "I need forgiveness," he said quietly. "Not just for little things."

"Then you've come to the right place," Daniel told him with a grin. "Though, you must realize that Christianity grants forgiveness as the means to an end, not the end itself."

This answer surprised Bucky, who didn't think he'd heard that from a pastor before. "What is the end, then?"

"God is the end. The problem we face is our guilty stance before Him, and we need forgiveness to be reconciled to Him."

"Then tell me how to get reconciliation."

The pastor cleared his throat and looked Bucky in the eye. His gaze was full of pity, but somehow it also seemed to demand conviction, and Bucky averted his eyes. He couldn't help but call to mind the memories of his kills over the years, and being in this place made them seem even more disgusting. He waited eagerly to hear what this man's offer was.

"God made you," Daniel began. "He made everything in existence, and He made it all good. However, mankind fell when the first man, Adam, disobeyed God's law, and as a result we all bear a corrupted nature. Mankind had committed cosmic treason against the perfect, holy God. Sin is no small matter in the face of the Holy One; if we really knew who God is and who we are and what we are doing when we sin, we would fall on our faces and be amazed that God doesn't cast us into eternal punishment immediately. We're all in this boat: all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God."

Bucky recalled Aragorn saying something similar to that, and it gave a little more credulity to what the pastor was saying. "In spite of what we deserve," Daniel continued, "God loves us. It's nearly unfathomable that it could be so in the face of such blatant disobedience of one so holy, but it's true. He loved us, and even in the wake of mankind's first sin, He promised a Deliverer.

"All throughout the history of mankind, God has called sustained His own people. From the time of Adam and Eve until the Roman Empire, God gave His people promises and further revelation of what their Deliverer would be like. Finally, born in a manger was the long-awaited Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. You've probably heard lots of the stories about His life and teachings. God Incarnate, He became the perfect representative for God's people. It's a concept similar to that of an elected representative, one we call "federal headship". Jesus acted as our federal representative before God. This entailed two main things: living a life of perfect obedience and dying a death of perfect atonement. The former gains us righteousness that can stand in the courtroom of the ultimate Judge, and the latter takes away the wrath in store for our sins.

Daniel paused and shook his head. "The extent of God's love for undeserving sinners is shocking every time I think about it. Instead of hell, God took on our feeble nature, bore the just punishment we deserved, and now He treats us like we were as perfect as Jesus. God's story of redemption could not be crafted to make a more mind-blowing conclusion.

"And so where are we left?" Daniel said, turning back to the tapestry he had been weaving. "After His crucifixion, Jesus rose _physically_ from the dead. He has been given all power and authority; death is defeated; the new creation has begun.

"New creation?" Bucky asked, venturing to his first question as he tried to process all that was being told him.

"Yes," Daniel answered. "One with no sorrow, no tears, and no sin. It's obviously not here in every sense, but God's people—the Church—are a part of it. We're in a different kingdom than the world is; we've been raised from death to life, and we have assurance of a bodily resurrection through our risen Deliverer."

Bucky continued to mull it all over. "But what distinguishes God's people from the rest?" he inquired. "How does God chose them?"

"The answer to the first question is, fundamentally, God's Holy Spirit," Daniel said. "We are by nature children of wrath, but the Holy Spirit takes from us a heart of stone and gives a heart of flesh. This enables us to love and obey God. We are saved by God's grace through faith alone; none of our good deeds mean anything in God's courtroom, and we rely on Christ's righteousness alone."

_Faith_. So was that the answer to all of this? Just faith? The idea of exchanging all the benefits and sacrifice Daniel had just described for faith sounded absurd. So much for so little. Then again, it wasn't like sinners could offer anything, especially not to God. But just when Bucky thought he might give some thought to this, he stopped short.

"How does one get this faith?" Bucky asked, on guard to follow the pastor's logic closely. "I thought you said that God's people were chosen, not that they chose Him."

"As I said, mankind is infected with a natural inclination to sin," Daniel said. "On our own, no one is righteous, no one seeks God, and no one does good—not even one. However, God chose His people before the foundations of the world, and He gives them faith as a gift. It's not based on their merit or potential; just on His will. So while faith is the requirement for salvation, it too is provided. God is the author and finisher of our faith."

The load of information weighed heavily on Bucky's mind, so much in such a short amount of time. How would he manage to analyze it all, not to mention test its veracity? But there was also something stirring deeper than simple confusion or even bewilderment. It was not easy to describe and just as hard to dismiss.

The pastor seemed to notice that Bucky was in deep thought, and he relieved some of the tension by interjecting a slight change of subject. "James, do you happen to like baked chicken?" The question caught Bucky totally off guard, but after quick recovery, he nodded. The pastor stood up and smiled, holding Bucky's gaze with a friendly eye. "Why don't you come to have dinner with my family, and if you have more questions, we can talk some more. If not, you still get my wife's amazing cooking."

Bucky actually chuckled, and even though he was hesitant to trust a stranger, he felt that he ought to do so. Besides, this might be his only chance for a meal. And he did have more questions.

"Thank you," Bucky replied, standing as well. "I really appreciate it."

"No trouble at all," Daniel assured.

The two made their way past the pews and to the front door, which they exited and Daniel locked. Apparently the pastor's dwelling was within walking distance, and Bucky followed close by his companion's side as they went, though his mind was miles away. The news was all so foreign in one sense, like a fairy tale, but at the same time, it settled right at home in Bucky's soul. The strange feeling wasn't going away, and the clash between an understood position of guilt and an unbelievable offer of forgiveness was almost too much to fathom. But somehow, he was managing to grasp it, and with that knowledge came desire for more. Was this the spark of faith?

**. . .**

**Okay, so you know how earlier I said that I have good cause to include Christian ideas in this story since Tolkien's worldview contained them? Well, that's true, but it's not the whole reason. Not by a long shot. The underlying reason for my going "all Christian" on you guys was because I wanted Bucky to find **_**real**_** peace. I could have easily written about him being forgiven by people or doing a lot of good works to cover his sins, but to act like those things by themselves will do anything to atone for evil is to lie to my readers. It might sound happy pappy to talk about following your heart and being nice, but we are sinners in the hands of an angry God, and the gospel of Jesus Christ is our only hope.**

**I don't say these things out of desire to condemn, but rather out of love for you guys, my amazing readers. I'm not better than you; I am a wretch saved by grace. I want everyone to know the truth and to repent and believe in He who has power to save! If you have any questions about any of that, please, please, please message me; I would be thrilled to elaborate. **

**I hope y'all stick around. The story is coming to a close, and Steve will make his first appearance very soon. Please leave me some reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Ah, I've been thinking about the scene in this chapter ever since seeing the movie. I hope y'all enjoy it; please review!**

**. . .**

"I cannot thank you enough for all you've done for me," Bucky said as he stood on Daniel's front porch. The sun was just climbing over the horizon, and while Bucky wanted to express his gratitude thoroughly for the pastor's hospitality and willingness to answer countless questions, he was now anxious to find Steve.

"It was no trouble at all," Daniel replied with a friendly smile. "I'll be praying for you."

"Again, I thank you."

"If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to come to me. I'm always here for you."

Bucky nodded and waved to his friend before setting his face toward the street. He started walking in the direction of the Helicarrier incident, hoping to find Steve in whatever hospital was closest to it. He had shaved his beard and taken a cleansing shower while in Daniel's home. The kind pastor, even after providing a place to sleep, had also given Bucky a set of casual clothes including a ball cap, so hopefully he could blend in well enough.

It took about half an hour of wandering to find the damaged Triskelion building and the wreckage of the Helicarriers. Cops and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were still crawling all over the area, both in the debris field and in a wide perimeter, and Bucky feared that he would be recognized in spite of his makeshift disguise. However, he soon spotted a hospital on a nearby road, pretty near to the place he had pulled Steve onto the river bank, and he made for it without drawing any attention to himself. Once he reached it, he entered the door and waited patiently at the front desk.

"Can I help you with something, sir?" the receptionist asked.

"I am looking for Steve Rogers," Bucky said, only realizing after he had finished his sentence that Cap's location could be classified from the public.

"No walk-in visitors are authorized to see him," the lady said with a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Only those with expressed permission and identification."

Bucky knew he should have expected something like this, but he was at least glad to know that he had found the right place. "Oh, I'm sorry. Thank you for your time."

Bucky walked out of the hospital and sighed. He examined the building closely, noting all the details he could. It was only three stories high, and surely Steve would have been removed to a recovery room by now. That meant that he was probably not on the first floor. Although that still left many rooms to choose from, Bucky did not let that deter him.

He walked across the street to a two-story restaurant and ascended to the highest point. He found a window facing the hospital and drew from a pocket one of the only items he had left besides his blade: a magnifying lens. He waited a few minutes as a couple customers cleared out, and then he utilized his time alone. He held the device up to his eye and gazed through it into each hospital window, hoping that Steve's would be unobstructed by curtains or shutters.

He looked over the entire second floor and did not see anything that would indicate his target was there. Looking up higher still, he at last laid eyes on what he sought. Halfway across the third story, Bucky could see the standing figure of the man who had worn the bird-like flight suit. He seemed to be saying a farewell to someone, and though Bucky could not see the bed or patient, there was good reason to believe it was Steve. He quickly made his way out of the restaurant and toward the alleyway to the hospital's right, hoping there would be a fire escape to take him to his destination.

His hopes were not in vain. Several series of staircases led all the way to the roof, and Bucky was on the building's top in less than a minute. He carefully counted rooms as he passed above them until he came to Steve's. He dropped silently onto the small balcony outside window and remained out of sight. He listened carefully, knowing he could not enter if someone else were there. When he was sure that Steve was alone, he peered around the wall's corner to assess the situation inside.

As he had deduced, no visitors or nurses were in the room. A single hospital bed with its headboard against the wall was in the room's center with a couple chairs at various angles around it. The patient himself was lying peacefully on the bed with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling softly. He was not asleep, but neither was he giving any attention to his surroundings. Bucky felt his heart beat heavily in his chest.

Now that it came to this moment, Bucky was afraid. He felt the guilt of what he had done weigh upon him again, and he could not think of anything adequate to say to his dearest of friends. Steve was the best person Bucky knew, but could anyone really pass over the pain that Bucky had inflicted? Bucky took in a slow, deep breath and tried to recall all that he had been learning, both from Aragorn and from Daniel. He was doing the right thing here; it did not ultimately matter what Steve did. If Bucky had been forgiven by God, that was enough.

"Steve," Bucky said, his voice coming out in a shaky whisper. He stepped into full view but kept a decent distance from the bed as he waited to see Steve's response to his presence.

Steve's eyes quickly snapped open at the unexpected noise, and he gasped when he saw Bucky standing in the room. Bucky could see in his friend's eyes a calculation of potential courses of action, but more than anything was just the genuine gaze that had been there ever since Steve was a kid.

"Buck?" Steve asked in disbelief.

Bucky stepped nearer to his friend's bed, stopping a few feet from it. His mouth opened but nothing came out. There just wasn't any combination of words in the English language that could express the grief and sorrow Bucky felt when he looked at the wounds he had inflicted. At last he settled for the most unoriginal sentence in the history of repentance.

"I'm so sorry."

That was all he could say before his eyes filled with tears. He hated this outward display of emotions, but Steve had always been the one he could go to when they were young, and there was no holding it all in anymore. The water streamed down his cheeks, and he found himself kneeling beside the hospital bed, his face downward, just crying. It wasn't hysterical, and it wasn't unwarranted; it was the last expression of sorrow that Bucky had left.

It was not more than ten seconds before Bucky felt a warm hand resting on his shoulder, and he didn't have to guess whose it was. He turned to face Steve, and there he saw both pity and a small smile. That was all he could endure before he was truly sobbing, not like a child, but like a soldier.

Steve somehow twisted his still-battered body so that his legs swung over the side of the bed, and he slipped down beside his friend, wrapping him a warm embrace. It was such a long-desired yet unlooked for moment that neither moved for a long time, but then neither wanted to. Friendship, perhaps the most underrated of loves, gave in those minutes one of the most concentrated feelings of contentment either man had ever known.

**. . .**

**Did you like it? Let me know!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Here's the thirteenth chapter, after which only comes one more chapter and an epilogue. Almost there!**

**. . .**

Bucky gingerly helped Steve climb back onto the hospital bed, chiding himself for letting his friend get up with all his injuries. Steve didn't seem to mind one bit, and even though he grimaced as his body adjusted, his smile did not diminish.

"I hope you'll be sticking around," Cap said, nodding to one of the chairs. "Not too busy, are you?"

Bucky grinned and obliged, taking the seat nearest his position. "It's not the first time I've sat through one of your hospital stints, you know. I'm pretty sure I know the ropes."

Steve's grin grew a bit wider, and he managed a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, you probably have this down." The Captain sighed, and his expression grew more serious. "Are you alright?" he ventured almost nervously. "I'm not the only one who took a nasty beating, you know."

Bucky shrugged it off. "Don't give yourself too much credit," he answered with a smile. "I've had time to heal."

"Oh, yeah?" Steve inquired, raising a brow. "When? It hasn't been very long." Steve paused, noticing for the first time the scars on Bucky's face that hadn't been there before and that he was fairly certain he hadn't inflicted. "And where'd you get those?" he added, nodding towards the marks.

Bucky laughed quietly, and shook his head. He hadn't thought about how he was going to explain any of his own physical and mental changes since his last meeting with Captain America. It wasn't exactly a simply tale. "Even you would probably not believe me," he answered with a slight smile.

Just when Steve was about to continue to pry, footsteps sounded just outside the room. Steve knew it would be Natasha, as she and Sam had volunteered to switch off staying with him during his recovery. He was not sure how she would react to Bucky's presence, nor even what Bucky would do. Before he could give any kind of warning, the Black Widow stepped in through the doorway.

"Sorry I was late. I got caught up with…" she trailed off when she took in the situation. Instinct directed her hand to her concealed gun, and she quickly drew it out and pointed it at the imposter in one skillful movement.

To Natasha's surprise, the Winter Soldier neither attacked nor even set up a potential defense. Instead, he raised his hands calmly in an attempt to appear non-threatening, slowing standing from his chair without speaking. Natasha did not buy it, and she kept her gun pointed directly toward her target. His eyes were not cold and calculating as they had been last time they fought, but the lingering pain in her shoulder from his bullet reminded her not to trust expressions from an assassin.

"Natasha, stop!" Steve said loudly. He held out his hand in protection, though it did no good, and he winced as pain flashed through his body. "It's fine; leave him alone."

"Steve, don't," Bucky scolded, seeing his friend's discomfort.

"Don't shoot him," Cap repeated, breathing slowly as if that could ease the tension.

Natasha remained silent for a moment, still gripping the pistol tightly. She weighed her options, but she was not sure whether to go with her own gut or Steve's biased instructions. "Steve, are you sure you know what you're saying," she said evenly after a moment. "I know how much Bucky means to you, but I don't think you're being realistic. You're not in this hospital for no reason."

"Steve, let her keep it out if she wants to," Bucky said, turning to face his friend. "I wouldn't trust me either."

"Nat," Steve said, not heeding Bucky's attempted compromise, "I'm not asking you to trust him; just trust me."

Natasha looked from one man to the other, her mind scrambling to make a choice behind her steely eyes. Of course Steve was not technically a captain over her, but he might as well be. She had learned to trust him, and even though it was against everything her instincts were telling her, she decided to comply. Slowly, she lowered her gun, but she did not put it in its holster or let her guard down in the slightest.

"Thank you," both men said at the same time.

Natasha gave a curt nod in Steve's direction, though she still looked at Bucky with suspicion and doubt. Bucky was not at all surprised or offended by her attitude, knowing it was justly earned. He gave a sad sigh and shook his head slowly.

"Natasha," he said, meeting her gaze. "Look, I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry. I remember you from before, too; you did everything you could to save that engineer." He swallowed hard, but kept speaking. "I'm sorry."

He didn't let himself tear up front of someone he didn't know, but it was a battle. Natasha could read some of the emotion through Bucky's expression, though she wasn't ready to just throw away all her common sense because of one display of mildly convincing repentance. She settled for allowing herself to believe the possibility for sincerity existed.

"Understood," she answered, averting her eyes and finally setting her weapon back in its holster.

The room was quiet for a moment as no one was quite sure how to carry on, but Steve stepped in after a few seconds by clearing his throat and turning his attention back to Bucky.

"So, are you going to tell me how your face got all banged up, Buck?" he asked, hoping his friend would take the hint to resume conversation normally.

Bucky let out a long sigh. "It's a long story, and I still don't think it's one you're going to buy."

"Try me," Steve answered stubbornly. "I've seen some bizarre things, you know."

"Yeah, but I think this would top them all."

**. . .**

**Thoughts on the dialogue here?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Last chapter! There will be an epilogue of sorts, so don't go away once you finish. I hope you guys like this encounter. Let me know what you think!**

**. . .**

"You don't need to be so nervous, Buck," Steve assured, trying to comfort his friend as they walked down the halls of the White House. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"Steve, next time you have to make a confession of a dozen murders to the most powerful man in the world, think about how ridiculous that question is," Bucky replied with dry humor. "I still don't see why he's the one I have to see."

"Matthew Ellis is a very understanding man," Steve answer. "I've met him on a couple occasions, and I have only been treated with respect. I think that if you're so set on turning yourself in, the result will be more in your favor with him than with a random cop."

"How can going to prison be in my favor one way or another? Prison is prison."

Cap said nothing in response to Bucky's question, keeping his hopes and plans to himself. Instead, he once again tried to relieve his friend of anxiety. "At least you've gotten good at this apologizing thing," he said with a smile. "With all the practice, this should be old hat."

"Thanks," Bucky said with heavy sarcasm, but he could not suppress a grin. "At least I'm on the last one, I think."

The two continued down the hall until they reached another security check where a guard instructed them to wait. They sat down in a pair of chairs, and although Bucky was still nervous, he felt a wave of peace pass over him when he thought of how Aragorn would be pleased with how well this healing process was wrapping up. He'd accomplished nearly everything he'd come home to do, and this last meeting would mark the last stage.

"What was that smile for?" Steve asked, having noticed Bucky's changed expression.

"I was just thinking of Aragorn," Bucky replied. "He set me on this path, towards peace with men and with God. I'm just glad that he was right about my story."

"What was it he said exactly?"

Bucky grinned. "He said he thought it had to be headed toward healing or it would have led to him. I survived a lot of things I shouldn't have; there had to be a reason."

"He was smart," Steve remarked with a chuckle.

"Did I ever tell you that he sends you his regards?"

"No," Steve said, unable to keep a little bit of surprise from his face. "I guess that's a high honor; I wish I could return it."

"Me, too. I bet you two would get along pretty well."

Within a few minutes, the two friends spotted a small group of men approaching them, and they stood up respectfully. The President of the United States was walking down the hallway, several security guards on each side. His expression showed both experience and kindness as he smiled to his guests.

"Captain Rogers," he greeted with a dip of his head.

"Mr. President," Steve returned.

"I am glad to see you so well after your injuries. Was it ten days in the hospital?"

"Eleven," Steve corrected politely.

"Eleven days for four bullets," Ellis said thoughtfully. "Do they have any of that serum to spare?"

"Unfortunately, they do not," Steve said with a laugh.

Ellis waved off his security guards, who reluctantly moved several paces away. He now turned his attention to Bucky, who now felt much smaller and less important.

"Sergeant Barnes, I gather," the President said, shaking Bucky's hand. "It's an honor to meet you."

"The honor is all mine, let me assure you," Bucky said solemnly. Not wanting to postpone the topic any longer, Bucky launched straight into his purpose. "I must report to you several of my own acts of treason and murder while I was a part of HYDRA. I accept responsibility for my actions and am ready to face the just consequences for them."

The President looked Bucky in the eye, perhaps reading the movies behind them. The silence felt terribly long, but Bucky refused to break his stare with Ellis. He hoped that the remorse in his own gaze would prove his repentance, even if that did not mean anything for his future. At last, the President sighed and shook his head.

"I have been made aware of the events to which you refer," he said slowly. "Do you comprehend the gravity of the crimes you have committed?"

"Yes, sir," Bucky said, his head now down.

"And you confirm that you are willing to face judgment for them?"

"Yes, sir."

Ellis took a step toward a nearby window and looked out, still speaking to Bucky, but not looking his direction. "Do you also realize, Sergeant Barnes, that you sacrificed your life for this nation during World War II?"

Bucky looked up, surprised by the comment. "You and your fellows risked everything you possessed for America," the President continued, "and you paid a higher price than anyone for that risk. This taken into account, along with your penitence and willingness to be punished, I grant you a full pardon of all crimes you committed against the United States while an agent of HYDRA."

Bucky's lower jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide in shock. He had not been expecting that at all; he might have foreseen a lenient sentence with Steve's influence, but a pardon? That was so much more than he could ever have asked for or dreamed of.

Steve put his hand on Bucky's shoulder and shook it in excitement. Everything seemed like a blur as Bucky tried to thank the President, though he could still not force himself to believe what had happened. Finally he managed to gather his wits enough to speak, although his voice was not quite steady.

"Thank you sir. Thank you so much."

Ellis smiled at both men before walking back toward the security team. It seemed the short encounter was now over, but the President did turn around to bid them a farewell.

"Goodbye, gentlemen. Good luck!"

"Goodbye, sir," Cap said. "Thank you for your time."

Bucky could not seem to say anything, but his eyes and demeanor got his message across. Ellis turned and walked away, chuckling quietly to himself as he went. Steve wrapped the shell-shocked Bucky in a happy embrace, which was returned. When the men pulled apart and Bucky looked into Steve's face, he saw a glint of mischievousness in his friend's eye, and he immediately sought an explanation.

"You had something to do with this, didn't you?"

Steve grinned. "Well…yes. I did make a few calls. I am Captain America, you know."

"I just can't believe it. I've spent these past two weeks preparing to spend the rest of my life in prison. Now suddenly the world is wide open. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do now!"

"Grab some lunch?" Steve suggested. Bucky smiled as he followed his friend out of the building. "You know Bucky," Cap began in a more serious tone, "the loss of S.H.I.E.L.D. poses a problem with all those bad guys running around. You could think about joining up with a really cool super soldier and saving the world."

"That sounds like a good idea," Bucky replied, lightly and playfully jabbing his friend in the ribs. "But let's eat first."

**. . .**

**I know that most people do not think Bucky is responsible for the Winter Soldier's actions, and personally I don't know for sure. However, I did make him take responsibility as I think a good man should, and it worked out well for him in the end anyway. Please review, and get ready for the last installment!**


	15. Epilogue

**Author's Note: At last, we come to it. The end of this story. I hope the ending satisfies you; please let me know what you thought of this tale via a review!**

**. . .**

An unclear image flashed before Aragorn's eyes, and he could not at first make sense of what he was seeing. Then, as his vision cleared, he saw that he was in a strange room filled with people and food. He himself did not appear to be sitting or standing, and it occurred to him that he was probably dreaming. Shoving this fact aside, he looked around him with curiosity, wondering where he was.

After a moment of scanning the area, he spotted two men seated together in the room's corner. Aragorn came closer to them, though he did no walking, and he was surprised to recognize one as Rancelevon. His face was cleanly shaven and his clothes were different, but even with a glove covering his metallic hand, the man was definitely Bucky. Aragorn tried to speak, but no sound came, and he remembered that Bucky could likely neither see him nor hear him.

The man across the booth was muscular and dressed in a red, white, and blue uniform. His eyes were merry, and he laughed often. Aragorn deduced that this must be the famous Steve Rogers, the friend Bucky had spoken so highly of. Considering that Bucky had injured him so severely just before coming to Arda, the ranger also assumed that considerable time had passed since Bucky returned to this world, perhaps a week or two.

Slowly, the muddled sounds around him became clear, and Aragorn caught part of the conversation that was going on between the two men. Though he did not understand some of what they said because of the cultural barrier, he eagerly received ever detail, hoping it would enlighten him as to Bucky's recent doings.

"…but all the paperwork!" Bucky exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Surely a pardon is not simply a quick decision of the President; there's got to be more to it than that."

"There is, and a lot more at that. However, you don't need to worry about any of that. Just accept that it has been taken care of."

"How long have you been working on this, anyway?" Steve smiled and looked away. "How long," Bucky demanded again.

"Since I first awoke in that hospital," Steve answered, keeping his modest eyes averted. Bucky was clearly taken aback at this, and Aragorn did not doubt that the man felt an even deeper debt to his friend.

"But you didn't even know…"

"I didn't need to," Cap insisted. "You're my friend, and that's all that matters. It's just an added bonus that you managed to throw off HYDRA's yoke so quickly so that others can see the Bucky I already knew."

"It wasn't me," Bucky mumbled quietly. "I can't give myself a heart transplant."

"True," Cap agreed with a nod. "I have been wondering a little about this whole event in Rivendell, though. You don't think we might end up running into that world again, do you? Maybe it'll be my turn next time."

Bucky smiled. "If you ever go without me, make sure you give a kind welcome to Aragorn. I wouldn't be here without him."

"He won't ever hear the end of it from me, rest assured," Steve chuckled.

Suddenly, the scene before Aragorn became muddled and began fading away. In less time that it took the ranger to be flattered by Steve and Bucky's words, the whole dream was swallowed into oblivion. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself lying in his comfortable bed of Rivendell, the morning just dawning. The dream, or more likely vision, was over.

It had been far too realistic to be a jumble of ideas, and Aragorn believed it had significance. He had encountered strange, almost prophetic dreams before meeting Bucky, and they had helped him stay alert so that his aid might come quickly. Perhaps his dream this morning had been true as well.

Slipping out of bed and changing into some clothes, Aragorn headed through the halls of the Last Homely House, seeking the wisdom of Elrond. However, before he had reached his foster-father's office, he was stopped by Bilbo in the great hall.

"Dúnadan!" the old hobbit exclaimed on seeing his friend. "I have at last completed my first draft for Rancelevon's song! Would you listen to it read through?"

"Of course," Aragorn consented, having no need to hurry.

Bilbo made himself comfortable on his stool and waited with pride as a few of the elves gathered around to hear his creation. Clearing his throat and trying to calm his smile, he began to chant.

_In a forest dark, on an evening cold,_

_A stranger trekked through the night._

_His sorrows were many, his troubles untold;_

_Despair loomed too great to fight._

_The man seemed as a legend made real:_

_Stronger than ten was he on his own._

_Quickly he could move, quickly he could heal,_

_And untiring, his silver arm shone._

_Hunger at last drove him to a distant fire;_

_Swiftly to danger he tread._

_He knew only that his need was dire_

_And not that evil stirred ahead._

_When he reached the source of his hope,_

_He was met with an evil scene._

_Trolls sat before him on a grassy slope—_

_Creatures he'd never seen._

_Though a threat was posed by each strange thing,_

_The man did not hesitate._

_Drawing his blade and preparing to spring,_

_He took on a readied state._

_His leap and stroke proved well done,_

_And a troll was slain by his blow._

_But the real battle had only just begun_

_For there remained still a foe._

_The troll took up a large branch to wield._

_It roared to signal attack._

_And the man, who was without a shield,_

_Was forced to give back._

_He dodged with speed the troll's first stroke,_

_Then threw his blade with skill._

_It flew through the fire's wafting smoke,_

_But the troll it did not kill._

_The troll's skin was strong; its hide was thick._

_The knife glanced to the ground._

_In anger fierce, the beast waved its stick_

_And swept the club around._

_The man and club did not yet meet;_

_He darted aside with ease._

_But another swift blow to the man's feet_

_Brought him down to his knees._

_The furious troll let a deadly stroke fly,_

_Slamming the man aside._

_He crashed to the ground with a pain-filled cry_

_And could not rise, though he tried._

_Though all hope seemed gone, it was not so;_

_Aid came to him in surprise._

_Narsil flashed forth, the blade all aglow,_

_Isildur's heir gave his battle cries._

"_Elendil! Elendil!" his yells echoed on._

_He thrust Narsil in the troll._

_The life of that evil fled and was gone._

_It crumpled down without soul._

_In haste, the Dúnadan ran to the stranger:_

_The man was clearly in need._

_The wounds gave great concern to the ranger,_

_And he put the man on his steed._

_To Imladris and healing the two raced away._

_They rode through the night without halt_

'_Til at last they reached the blesséd way_

_Which all elves of Arda exalt._

_The Dúnadan helped the man when he awoke_

_He told him to fear no harm._

_The ranger named him, since no word he spoke,_

_Rancelevon: silver arm._

_In Rivendell, Rancelevon received healing_

_Both of his wounds and his past._

_Even the greatest darkness is not fate-sealing_

_Eru's light is ever steadfast._

"It is not very good yet," Bilbo said as he suddenly dropped the formality, "but it tells the story well enough. What do you think, Dúnadan?"

"You have worked a marvelous song," said the ranger, beaming. "He would be most flattered."

"Would he?" the elderly hobbit asked with a twinkle of pride in his eye. "Good."

"It leaves me wondering where his fate turns now that the light guides him," the ranger mused.

"The road goes ever on and on," Bilbo quoted, returning his attention to his work.

Aragorn smiled. "Indeed it does, to some glorious purpose."

**. . .**

**Poems are not really my strength, but hopefully that one was tolerable. Anyway, I just want to thank you guys so very much for reading this story. I would be thrilled to hear what you thought of it. If you liked it, be sure to check out my other stories; I have done a lot of stuff with Bucky, Middle-earth, and crossovers, not mention other things of totally random categories. Thanks again for reading; God bless.**

**Soli Deo Gloria.**


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